


here's hoping we collide

by zapfinoo



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: (It's part of the movie verse), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Based on the comic "Origins", Before the Maze (Maze Runner), Eventual Romance, First Kiss, First Meetings, Forbidden Love, M/M, Pre-Canon, They been SNEAKING, WICKED | WCKD is Not Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28677162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zapfinoo/pseuds/zapfinoo
Summary: “I can’t even begin to fathom it,” Newt says, turning to stare up at the ceiling as if he’s looking for answers from above. He rests his joined hands on his chest, absentmindedly twirling his thumbs. “Can you imagine forgetting the person you love? Finding your way back to them without realizing that you have a shared past?”Or: what happened before.
Relationships: Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 101





	1. we started as a fever

**Author's Note:**

> hi fam! i can’t seem to stop writing. sorry. 
> 
> this is something i’ve wanted to write since jdash announced the fever code back in 2015 and i was obsessed with "beating heart" by ellie goulding. good times. TFC is a good book, but it didn’t really present the opportunities that i was hoping for so that i could write this; the forbidden love thing. as yall know, they're too young in TFC lol. but in the mini-comic "origins" (which u can read [here](https://twitter.com/WlCKEDsara/status/988925114682171397)) they're much older before they're put into the trials. 
> 
> the comic tells us what it was that made thomas betray WCKD and send info to the right arm (spoiler alert—it wasn’t because people died in the glade. a certain someone got hurt, though, and thomas couldn’t bear it anymore.)  
> it also says that thomas "volunteered" to work at WCKD, not that he was taken when he was young like they show in TST. whatever. I'm going with the volunteer thing.
> 
> disclaimers: the first part of the first chapter contains dialogue that ts nowlin wrote in the comic, but then i take over! also I'm still 19 and still from sweden so yeah. pls excuse my english if it's bad lol.
> 
> lastly, [here's a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7GkflgxJhTHrkXY6ntuRi1?si=Xg2dXCAaSoO05l15UiTtvw) bc yall know i can't resist making them.

Thomas’ ninetieth day at WCKD starts like any other. 

It’s the same routine as always. Wake up. Get breakfast in the cafeteria. Make awkward, depressing small-talk with the other Programmers. Work. Eat lunch. Work. Dinner. Sleep. Repeat.

Tonight, however, something in the back of his mind compels him to stay in the control room a while after all the others leave. And when the pretty brunette accidentally bumps into the back of his chair with her own, Thomas is grateful that he stayed. He’s been wanting an excuse to talk to her for _weeks_. 

The girl yelps in surprise. “Sorry, I didn’t think anyone was still here.” She spins her chair around so that they’re face to face. Her pale blue eyes match her uniform perfectly. “You’re the new guy, right? Thomas? I’m Teresa.”

“Huh,” he says, mostly to himself. _Teresa_. It suits her. “Three months of sitting next to each other and this is the first time we’ve actually—”

Thomas’ excitement about finally talking to someone his age vanishes immediately when he glances to the right and sees what’s on the girl’s monitor. Blurry footage of— “What’s that? What the hell happened?” Teresa doesn’t say anything, forcing him to take a closer look. 

It’s Alby. Thomas is relieved to see that he is okay—he hasn’t checked in on the two Subjects in a while—but the relief is short-lived because Alby is digging a _grave_. And his friend’s limp, lifeless body is lying right next to it. “ _George_?”

“A12,” Teresa confirms, voice flat. “He’s gone.” 

A crushing wave of heart-stopping guilt crashes over Thomas as Teresa goes on to explain what happened to the boy. He doesn’t really want to know, though, because it has no significance. The outcome is still the same; it doesn’t matter which one of the deadly routes the Maze Trials chose for George to meet his fate on. He’ll never get to experience or even _see_ a restored world, and Thomas is at the other end of it, allowing it to happen. _Making_ it happen.

 _The risk of race extinction justifies the elimination of a few_ , Director Paige tells Thomas in his mind. She continues to repeat the phrase like a mantra until he’s able to breathe normally again. 

“It gets easier,” Teresa finishes her speech by saying, casually nodding to her monitor like she’s gotten over George’s death already. Thomas never met the Subject in person, and Teresa probably didn’t either, but when your job is to watch someone live their life in real-time on almost a daily basis, you’re bound to develop some sense of emotional attachment to them. That’s why WCKD keeps the Subjects and Programmers in two separate parts of the facility. Here, though, in the control room, Thomas inevitably forms one-sided relationships with these people. Whether he likes it or not. 

“How?” Thomas retorts, looking Teresa dead in the eye, not believing her statement one bit. How could this job _ever_ get anything but more excruciatingly painful? The Trials are in full motion now—another arrival is scheduled for next week, and they’re just gonna keep coming. 

“By reminding myself that people are counting on us,” Teresa says. 

She’s right—they are. In fact, practically the entirety of the human race is counting on them—that’s exactly why Thomas left the Last City to come here and work. He watched his mother, in the early stages of sickness, as she slowly succumbed to the virus and was taken away. So Thomas wants to help, _needs_ to find a cure as soon as possible, because _no one_ deserves to go through that. And WCKD had warned him that the work was going to be terribly gruesome and probably even traumatizing to do, but he had not been expecting _this_. He hadn’t expected the endless stream of days that blur together into a disarray of all-consuming loneliness, guilt, and extreme frustration. 

Thomas hates the sun for what it did to the planet, but he hasn’t seen it in almost three months. When you’re completely closed off from what’s left of the world, it’s hard to remind yourself that it even exists, much less that it’s counting on you.

He’s about to tell Teresa this when a startling noise from above interrupts him. 

The blaring alarm echoes in the control room as Thomas and Teresa get to their feet in unison. The frightened look on her face tells him what he already knows: something’s gone wrong. 

Out in the hallway, personnel in full gear and armor have gathered. 

“Hey, what happened?” Thomas shouts, making one woman stop and turn around. “What’s going on?”

“Prisoner escape!” The woman announces. “A few Subjects managed to infiltrate this part of the building. Get back to your bunks and lock the doors!”

Then they storm off, leaving Thomas and Teresa alone and stunned. _Another_ escape? How do the Subjects keep finding ways to get out? This is the third time it has happened during Thomas’ time here.

Teresa links her arm with his, pulling him forward. “Come on, my room’s close.”

Thomas goes willingly, knowing that his own room is too far away in this, for a lack of a better word, _maze_ of a facility. Teresa’s turns out to be just a few feet ahead. 

She opens the door, and they can barely react before a figure materializes in the darkness. 

In one swift motion, it reaches out to grab Teresa and holds an unidentifiable object up against her skull. It gleams in the faint light of the slightly ajar door. A _gun_.

“You even _think_ about calling for help and I’ll shoot her,” the figure snarls, turning Thomas’ stomach into a tight knot of nerves. He _just_ met Teresa, but a growing suspicion tells him that he’d go crazy if she got hurt. 

A lamp is switched on, bathing the dorm room in bright, fluorescent light. In front of him stands not one, but _three_ intruders, including the one with the weapon. Despite the fear, a morbid part of Thomas finds the situation somewhat intriguing. He hasn’t interacted with any boys his age since he left the city, and, well. It gets boring sometimes. 

“Whoa, take it easy,” Thomas tells them, trying to maintain a calm approach even though he’s scared out of his mind. “Think about what you’re doing—”

“What’s it _look_ like we’re doing? We’re getting the hell _out_!” The tallest boy snaps. 

Of course they are. Thomas can’t exactly blame them for trying, but this compound is probably the safest place on Earth right now, safe from the sun and the virus. Where would they even go if they managed to escape—out into the Scorch to wander around aimlessly until some Cranks eventually find them?

“This entire place is mobilized. There are cameras everywhere. When they find you they’ll shoot you on sight,” Thomas tries to explain, but the boys clearly aren’t having it. 

“ _Bullshit_ ,” another Subject mutters. “Are we really gonna listen to this guy?”

“I’m trying to help you—”

“Then _help_ us,” says a new voice with a foreign accent that catches Thomas’ attention. He dares to take his eyes off the boy holding the gun, shifting his focus to a blond boy, seemingly his age. The boy doesn’t have the same look of unapologetic rage that his partners in crime possess—no, he looks different. Calm. Frustrated, yeah, but somehow also notably focused on the task at hand. “You’re one of them, you must know a way. If we go back the way we came, we’re dead anyway, aren’t we?”

Thomas hesitates, not really knowing where WCKD would draw the line if it came down to subduing their precious, valuable Subjects. Would they rather have dead lab rats instead of disobedient ones? That would be terribly inhumane, but then again, so are the Trials. So are most people in the _world_ these days. Solar flares and a global pandemic will do that to you. 

Thomas decides to not risk it. The problem, though, is that the building _doesn’t_ have any exits they could use without being discovered, and he is hilariously bad at lying. 

“I know a way,” Teresa says, thankfully taking over by selling the lie surprisingly well. “The service tunnels. For fiber-optics. There are no cameras there.”

Thomas and Teresa lead their captors down to the tunnels, where—despite what Teresa said—there are _a lot_ of cameras. Like in every single square meter of this place. 

The buff guy with Asian features keeps holding the gun pointed at them, pushing them into the middle of the line of escapees. The boy with the accent is right in front of Thomas, walking with steady determination towards their destination—which he believes is freedom. Thomas wishes they had that option, but they don’t. The concept of freedom evaporated the second the outbreak started. If they find a cure, though, maybe it’ll be restored again.

“So you’re a Programmer, then?” The boy asks suddenly, turning around to give Thomas a curious look. “I figure you must’ve done alright on those bloody puzzles they gave us when we first got here. What’s your name?”

Thomas had, apparently, succeeded fairly well with doing those puzzles and tests that WCKD gave him. So much so that he was subsequently selected for the role of a Programmer instead of a Subject, and now that he knows what the Subjects will be going through in the Trials, he is selfishly happy about his job. 

He tries not to think about it too much, though. Ava Paige’s deep-rooted motto is repeated in his mind for the hundredth time today. _The risk of race extinction justifies the elimination of a few_. 

“Who the hell cares what his name is?!” the intimidating, tall guy ahead of them snaps. Thomas is surprised too. Why would a Subject care enough to ask about his name? He can’t imagine the hatred they must have toward him, considering he is ‘one of them’. One of the people who keep making their friends disappear each month, one by one. If they knew what happened to them, they surely would have shot him dead by now.

“I’m Thomas,” he says to the kind boy, allowing himself to pretend that circumstances are completely different. That this is their first time meeting at school or something. A school with creepy underground tunnels.

“Thomas, nice to meet you.” _Nice_? He sounds like he’s being serious, but how in the world could he possibly be feeling that way? “They call me Newt.”

 _Teresa. Newt_. When Thomas woke up this morning, he had not been expecting to learn two teenagers’ names, much less talk to them. It’s a nice contrast to the mostly middle-aged staff that WCKD has hired to be Programmers, that’s for sure. And even though the circumstances leave something to be desired, Thomas can’t stop the sizzling excitement brewing in his soul—he is talking to people his age! It’s been years since he’s done that. When the lockdown started and the city built walls around itself, quite literally, Thomas had no one but his mom. And then he didn’t even have her anymore. 

“Great, are we all best friends yet?” the boy holding the gun scoffs. “Can we focus on getting out of here?”

Despite the rough comment, Thomas finds himself having to fight off a smile. 

“Don’t worry about him,” Newt says quietly like they’re exchanging secrets. “That’s just Minho.” 

_Teresa. Newt. Minho_. Three names now. 

The group comes to a stop when the tunnel ends. The tall guy doesn’t hesitate to push the heavy, steel door open with admirable bravery, only to reveal Assistant Director Janson with a team of armed staff behind it.

“Atta girl, Teresa,” Janson says, smiling like the smug asshole that he is. Thomas wants, once again, to punch that stupid smirk off of his face. He understands that WCKD _is_ good—in theory, anyway—but every time he sees Janson he starts to question that statement. The guy looks straight-up _evil_.

As if to prove Thomas’ point, Janson gestures to one of his minions, and they raise their gun towards Minho, who’s still holding Teresa captive. 

“Whoa, whoa,” Thomas acts on impulse and runs forward to shield his new acquaintances, even though it may very well get him fired. “Don’t shoot!”

Janson gives him a glare that would probably kill him if it’d worked like that. “ _Fire_.”

Before anyone can react, a soldier fires off a shot that hits Minho right in the chest. He falls to the floor and his body begins to convulse with electric shocks. Thomas can only watch, frozen and horrified, as the Subject silently suffers. 

Director Paige enters the room, then, with her signature white coat, and red lipstick that stands out like a bloodstain amongst the lack of color. 

“He’s only stunned,” Ava says in an authoritative voice that blatantly demands respect. It works—everyone turns to look at her. “Force our hand and we _will_ use lethal force.”

So that was their only warning, then. If the Subjects try to escape once more, they’ll be killed. 

Thomas watches as the soldiers handcuff the defeated prisoners and lead them away. A lump of surprisingly intense despair forms in his throat when he realizes that the next time he’ll see Minho and Newt, it’ll be on the monitors in the control room. 

And there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.

△

Or so he thought.

The next day, Thomas is assigned the tedious task of looking through the live camera feed of Group A’s common room to find out if there are any other potential ways for the Subjects to escape in the future. That’s how Director Paige had worded it, anyway, but her instructions could simply be summarized into ‘spy on them and see if they’re up to something’.

So that’s what he spends the day doing.

Group A’s area looks a lot like the one he lives in, with the same white, plain walls and the occasional WCKD logo and steel tables. Only there are no open doorways in their part of the facility. Instead, there are closed doors with keypads next to every single one. Another difference is the constant activity—there are kids bustling around _everywhere_. 

Thomas watches, spellbound, as the boys of Group A eat lunch in the cafeteria, animatedly gesturing and laughing with each other. Most of them look like they’re actually having _fun_ —a concept that has become completely foreign to Thomas by now. 

He is hit with a painful pang of jealousy, but it is immediately replaced by an even worse jolt of guilt. He should be _grateful_ that he isn’t on their side and destined for the Trials. It’s a rare privilege, Thomas reminds himself.

After a while of searching for them, he finally spots Minho, Newt, and their friend at a table in the corner of the room. Thomas feels like such an intruder when he zooms in on them and activates the hidden microphone within the closest proximity. He has no other choice, though. This is his _job_. 

“—doesn’t matter, guys. We have to try again,” one of the boys says to his friends around the table. _Subject_ _A8: ‘Gally’_ , the scanner provides helpfully. “I’d rather die escaping than spending the rest of my life in here. I mean, who knows what WCKD is gonna do to us? We have _no idea_ where George or Alby went. They might’ve killed them, for all I know.” 

“I don’t think so,” Newt replies, absentmindedly picking at his lunch with a fork. “They need us, don’t they? I have no bloody idea of what they’re going through during these _trials_ , but I’m quite certain WCKD’s methods aren’t actually deadly. If what they’ve told us is true, then we are the world’s last hope. Bit ironic, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Minho grunts, hunched over the table. “As if you idiots could ever save the world.”

“Shut it, Minho,” Gally snaps. “Let’s get serious here. As I said, we _have_ to try again. Any ideas?”

“None, mate,” Newt sighs. “What else is there to do? We tried to break the glass, we tried the vents—”

“I think we should try the vents again,” Gally says. “They clearly haven’t installed cameras in them, ‘cause why would they? And we didn’t get caught that time, so...”

Thomas’ heart rate picks up instantly. He should be screen-recording this so he can show it to Director Paige later. He _should_ , but something tells him not to. He goes against every single one of the instincts that WCKD has been trying to plant in his mind as he continues to listen to the conversation.

“Yeah, but they only lead to the other dorms on level two,” Minho whispers. _What_? Thomas leans forward in his chair, feeling a rush of some sort of eerie mixture between excitement and anxiety surge through his whole being. If Minho is right, then that means that there is a way to get across the two parts of the building, completely unsupervised. “What do you think would happen if three Subjects suddenly dropped down onto some staff member’s bed in the middle of the night, huh? Think we’d get caught then, smartass?” 

Gally rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything back. 

Thomas burns with something he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

Hope. Selfish, exciting hope.


	2. nothing safe is worth the drive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope the end of this chapter isn't too meta lmfao. but what can i say? mf really looked back 3 times.

“Did Group A present any illicit behavior today, Thomas?” 

“They did not, Director Paige.”

“Very well. Keep looking tomorrow.”

△

Later, after having dinner in the cafeteria with Teresa, Thomas finds himself actually contemplating going over there. To the _other side_. 

He can’t, though. He’d get caught. WCKD always finds out about everything eventually.

But maybe if he just tried it _once_? Newt, Minho, and Gally have clearly been in the vents before without facing any repercussions, so why shouldn’t he be able to do the same?

No. He can’t risk getting fired, because where would he go then? The outer ring of the Last City? The _Scorch_? Hell no. He wouldn’t last a day out there. 

But... _one_ trip through the vents can’t hurt, surely. 

Yes, it could. Maybe.

If Thomas were a character in one of those old-school cartoons right now, Director Paige would be standing on one of his shoulders, telling him that he has one purpose and one goal as someone who’s immune: follow the rules and find a cure. Newt and his friends would be perched on the other side, probably telling him that he has the power to write his own story, or something equally as cliche. 

Thomas just doesn’t know who’s the angel and who’s the devil yet. 

It doesn’t take long to find the vent hatch. It’s almost directly above his bed, he just hadn’t had reason to notice it before. 

As Thomas crawls through the tight space, it hits him that he has no justifiable reason as to why he decided to do this, other than the simple fact that he _wants_ to. It’s been years since he did something just because he wanted to. So, maybe it’s long overdue. He’s still only human. 

Besides, it’s not like this is going to become a regular thing. He’s just gonna take a look. He knows himself, and his constant curiosity is something that he doesn’t have the strength to fight off. It’s better to just feed it and then move on.

The ventilation system is much more complex than he was expecting it to be. But then again, it was made by WCKD, so he should have known. 

What is he even doing? Obviously, he can’t just show up unannounced at Newt or Minho’s doorstep. Definitely not Gally’s, either—he’d looked at Thomas like he wanted to strangle him when they were down in the tunnels. So had Minho, though. _Fuck_ , he should’ve thought this through.

Just as Thomas is about to admit defeat and turn back, he crawls by another hatch and almost jumps out of his skin when he sees whose room it is. Gally is resting peacefully on his bed directly underneath, and even though he’s asleep, he still looks extremely angry.

If Gally is Subject A8, and Newt is Subject A5, then the latter’s cell must only be three hatches away. 

It is. Newt is lying down on his bed too, and fortunately, he isn’t asleep yet. He has a blank, almost hollow expression on his face as he quietly studies the wall across from him. He’s in a black t-shirt with tiny, white lettering on the front of it, and Thomas doesn’t have to get closer to know what it says. _Property of WCKD_.

“ _Pssst_ , hey,” he whispers through the hatch. “ _Newt_!”

The boy looks up, and seemingly almost has a heart attack by doing so. “Who’s— _Thomas_?”

Bizarrely, the first thought that goes through Thomas’ mind is _he remembers my name_. That shouldn’t have any significance whatsoever, yet it does. 

“Hey, man,” Thomas says lamely. “Uh, how’s it going?”

“How’s it—?” Newt sits up on the bed, shaking his head as if to shake off the overwhelming confusion that he is doubtlessly experiencing. “ _What_ are you doing here? How could you possibly have known about—?”

“About the vents? Yeah, um...” Desperately, he racks his brain for a way of not sounding like a creep. “There are microphones _everywhere_ around this place, so you might wanna be a little more careful when planning your next escape with your friends.”

Newt raises an eyebrow, looking extremely suspicious, and rightfully so. “And why in the world are you helping us, then, Mr. Programmer?”

That is an excellent question. “I don’t know, I just thought I should warn you. And now that I have, I’m gonna, uh, go back. Bye. Nice seeing you again.” Thomas wants to slap himself as soon as the words leave his mouth. _Beautifully put, idiot!_

“Hang on!” Newt protests and gets to his feet, presumably to stop him. He doesn’t have to—Thomas comes to a halt immediately. “Now that I know you’re not gonna bloody tell on me, I have some questions for you. And you _better_ answer them.”

“Um, okay? Yeah, I can do that,” Thomas stutters, not yet willing to admit to himself that this outcome was what he’d been hoping for all along. 

“Well, then. Welcome,” Newt grins, reaching up to swing the hatch open, “to my humble abode.”

The _humble abode_ in question is the smallest room Thomas has ever had the unfortunate luck of spending time in. It has a narrow bed, a desk, a sink with a faucet, and a fluorescent light above it. The walls are painted a monotonous grey. How cozy.

Thomas barely even has time to drop down onto the floor before Newt shoots him a disapproving glare and crosses his arms, no doubt getting ready to interrogate the shit out of him. “Right,” Newt says, “first question: do you know where my sister is?”

That was certainly _not_ what Thomas was anticipating. He was expecting him to wrestle him to the ground and shout something along the lines of, _tell me how to get out of here, you piece of shit_! Honestly, Thomas wouldn’t have blamed him for it. “Maybe. What’s her name?”

Newt watches him with dark, seeking eyes as if to evaluate the authenticity of his words. “Sonya. I call her Lizzy, though.” 

“I don’t know anyone with either of those names,” Thomas admits. “Sorry.”

“Figures,” Newt mutters, deflating a little. “She was the only family I had left, but then she was taken by WCKD as well. I should kill you for working for those pricks.” His words must have brought forth a look of complete horror because Newt does a double-take and promptly bursts out laughing at the sight of Thomas’ expression. “I’m only joking, mate. I get the feeling that you’re not here by choice either.”

“It’s complicated,” Thomas confesses. “I want to find a cure more than anything, but I never thought developing it would require... this.”

“About that,” Newt starts. _Shit_. “What does _this_ mean, exactly? Where do my friends keep disappearing off to?”

“You don’t want me to tell you,” Thomas says sincerely. Knowing about his terrifying destiny will not do Newt any good—quite the opposite. Thomas wants to spare him unnecessary anxiety for as long as he can.

Newt isn’t having it. “I do, actually.” 

“You could get me fired,” Thomas tries, despite knowing there’s no use. Something tells him that Newt is an extremely stubborn guy. 

“Possibly, yeah. But why would I choose to do that? I’m breaking the rules too, and you heard the bloody Ice Queen—one more misstep and she’ll start using _lethal force_.” 

“Ava wouldn’t—she would never kill you,” Thomas says, but finds himself doubting it when the words hang out in the open space between them. Maybe he doesn't know his boss as well as he thought he did.

“No?” Newt snaps, stepping all up in Thomas’ personal space to back him up against the wall. “I reckon she’d do just about anything to maintain order ‘round here.”

“Newt...” Thomas sighs, deciding to go with a more sincere approach. “There is nothing I can do to keep you or your friends from being sent into the Trials. Trust me, you _do not_ want to know what’s waiting for you in there.”

His new acquaintance doesn’t budge. Instead, he points to Thomas’ chest with an accusatory finger. “Out with it. _Now_.”

“You’re gonna hate me—”

There’s a dark, persistent fire in Newt’s eyes, burning with spite.“What makes you think I don’t already?”

That shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, they only just met. Thomas gives in, breaking away from Newt’s relentless gaze. “Fine. But you might wanna sit down for this.” 

Newt doesn’t say anything for a while after Thomas is done telling him all about the Maze and WCKD’s scare tactics which will, hopefully, lead to a cure eventually.

The seconds that slowly tick by can be heard loudly from the clock on the wall in the devastatingly quiet room. Ironically, the silence seems _loud_ somehow. It turns into a buzz of annoying static in Thomas’ ears. 

“Is Alby still alive?” is the first thing Newt says after a couple of minutes have passed. 

“Yeah,” Thomas whispers, forcing a smile. “He's a tough one.” 

“But his memories have been _removed_?”

Thomas can only nod helplessly. The Swipe is the hardest part to talk about. As horrible as the Maze itself is, no obstacle in the Trials can compare to being completely stripped of your identity. 

“And George?”

“He’s—” Thomas’ voice breaks. “He’s gone.”

Newt barely reacts to this, like he saw it coming. “Who’s up next, then?”

Thomas hesitates and considers denying having any knowledge about who’s scheduled for the next insertion, but Newt can clearly spot a lie from thousands of miles away. “Ben.”

Newt doubles over, resting his head in his hands. “Fucking hell.” 

“I’m so sorry, I—”

“Do _not_ apologize,” he mutters. “Carry on with your work and make sure to find the cure instead. Otherwise, all of this will have been for nothing, won't it?”

“You’re right,” Thomas croaks, barely audible over Newt’s heavy breathing. 

“You should go now.”

He definitely should. Newt doesn’t even care to raise his head and say goodbye, but again, Thomas can’t blame him. 

As Thomas gets up on the chair and swings the hatch open, though, Newt speaks again. “Tommy?”

It takes a few embarrassing seconds for the nickname to sink in. “Yeah?”

“Thank you for telling me. I don’t actually hate you, not really. I just... I hate the bloody virus.”

“Me too,” Thomas whispers before hauling himself back up into the vents. 

△

“Teresa?”

“Hm?”

“Have you ever heard of any female Subjects being captur—uh, _held,_ by WCKD?”

“Yes,” Teresa says, glancing up from her salad to shoot him a suspicious look. “That would be Group B, Tom.”

“Huh?”

“Group B? The second Maze? With girls instead of boys?”

“Oh, right. Are you—do you know if there’s anyone named Sonya in that group?”

“There is, yeah. The woman sitting next to me in the control room writes code for their Trials sometimes. I get nosy. Wait, how do _you_ know about this?”

“Oh, uh... Director Paige talked to me about it.”

“Really? Wow, you must really be gaining her trust, then.”

“Yeah,” Thomas mutters and watches as Ava and Janson suddenly appear to make their way through the cafeteria. Without thinking about it, he snaps his plastic fork in half. “I guess so.”

“Don’t make it easy on them,” Ava says later, peeking over his shoulder to look at his monitor where Alby is currently watching the doors close for the day. 

Thomas grits his teeth, remembering the look of complete misery on Newt’s face as they spoke about the Maze. He’d given up all hope in that exact moment, Thomas _saw_ it happening with his own two eyes. And he finds himself willing to do whatever it takes to restore that hope. 

Maybe this revelation is what causes Thomas to break the rules by looking through the Subject archives for Sonya’s name. He finds it almost immediately and pulls up a picture of her. 

Thomas definitely sees the resemblance. Newt and his sister have the same blonde hair, the same nose, the same look of adamant determination in the face of captivity. 

He prints out the photo before going back to work. 

“Newt?” Thomas whispers out into the seemingly empty darkness, later, when everybody in the facility has gone to sleep. “You there?” 

A light turns on, and there he is—below him on the bed, just like last time. Newt tilts his head to the side, looking up with a sleepy look of confusion on his face. “Tommy,” he says through a yawn, ”where else would I be?”

“Good point,” Thomas admits, swinging the hatch open to drop down to the floor of the small cell. Newt curiously sits up on the bed when he holds out the piece of paper for him to take. “Here, I brought you something. Keep it hidden, though. I don’t want you to get in trouble ‘cause of me.”

Newt unfolds the paper and stares with wide, sparkling eyes at what he sees. “She’s _alive_?” he breathes, looking at the photo of his sister with a wonderful amount of love that Thomas didn’t know still existed in their ravaged world. He nearly melts at the sight. 

“Yeah. She lives in another facility with a bunch of other girls,” Thomas explains tentatively, not sure if this is what Newt wants to hear. It probably isn’t, but it’s the sad truth. “They’re... candidates for the Trials, too.” 

Something in the air changes. Newt looks up at him, frowning, and the air in between them becomes charged with tension. “Why are you helping me, Tommy? To give yourself a pat on the back, maybe? To compensate for the awful work you do during the day?”

“I...” Thomas has been thinking about that question ever since Newt asked it yesterday, but he still doesn’t have a single clue. What is it about Newt that makes him consider disobedience time and time again? “I don’t know. I guess I’ve realized that I don’t agree with most of WCKD’s rules. I don’t think you should’ve been separated from your sister. I guess this is me doing whatever I can to help fix the situation. I can leave, though. If—if you want,” he mumbles, refusing to make eye contact. 

Newt’s face softens again. “No, I... sorry for snapping at you. None of this is your fault. It’s not WCKD’s either, really, if you think about it. There is no one to blame except the bloody _sun_ , and that’s the funny thing about this, isn’t it? The whole world’s gone mental, and we don’t even have the simple pleasure of putting the blame on someone.”

Thomas studies him, silently appreciating how grounded in reality he is despite the horrible circumstances. “That was... surprisingly deep,” Thomas admits, eliciting a small smile from Newt. _Success_! 

“Yeah, well... when you spend the majority of your time locked in a room, you definitely end up having a lot of odd thought spirals.”

“I know what you mean,” Thomas mumbles. An epiphany comes to him, then, in a wave of bittersweet analyses—expanding and ever-growing. Maybe they’re both lonely. Maybe they both need someone to talk to. “Will you tell me about her? Your sister?”

Newt turns to him with surprise written all over his face. “Sure,” he replies, the smile still intact. Thomas intends to try to keep it that way. “What d’you want to know?”

“Anything,” Thomas says. “Everything.”

△

And so it goes. 

The exhilaration of sneaking through the dark vents of WCKD becomes even more enjoyable every time Thomas does it.

He meets up with Newt on almost a daily basis. Or, on a _nightly_ basis, rather. Sometimes, when they’re feeling unusually fearless, Newt will come to _his_ room, because ‘it’s nicer’. Thomas doesn’t mind one bit. Luckily, his door locks from the inside. 

They talk about Alby a lot. Thomas gives Newt updates about what his friends are up to in the place they have nicknamed ‘the Glade’. He makes sure to avoid mentioning how Alby wakes up screaming with tears in his eyes every night, though. Newt doesn’t need to hear about that kind of stuff. 

Then, after the next insertion, they talk about Ben. 

Another month goes by, and one morning, Director Paige announces that Subject A7— _Minho_ —is to be sent into the Trials next. 

_Shit_.

When Newt comes to him that night, Thomas has been anticipating it all day. He gets to his feet the moment he hears the vents clang and rattle. “Newt?”

Thomas barely has time to react before the boy tumbles down from the ceiling and into his arms in a bone-crushing hug. 

_He’s warm_ , is the first thing that pops up in Thomas’ head. He pushes the thought away at once.

“I’m sorry,” Newt croaks, clinging to him desperately, pressing his face into the crook of Thomas’ neck. “I didn’t know where else to go.” 

Thomas can only return the gesture by sliding his arms around his friend’s waist, holding him tightly. “Hey, it’s okay,” he whispers, feeling bold enough to raise one hand to run it through the soft hair on the back of Newt’s head. “It’s okay.” 

“How am I supposed to go on with my life,” Newt asks later when they’re lying face to face on Thomas’ narrow bed, “when I know what Minho’s going through in that bloody death-trap? _How_ , Tommy?”

Thomas doesn’t have much experience with comforting people or generally being a friend to anyone, so he has no clue what to say or how to make him feel better about the situation. 

“I don’t know. I’m—” Thomas cuts himself off, resisting the urge to apologize, knowing Newt well enough at this point to know that his reaction would only result in an eye roll or a scoff. “I can tell you about how great he was today, if you want,” he offers instead. 

“I’d like that,” Newt whispers. “Go on.”

So Thomas proceeds to tell him how brave Minho had been right from the moment he came up in the Box—pointedly avoiding to bring up the lost look on his face as he wandered aimlessly around the Glade, looking for answers that clearly weren’t gonna come. 

“He barely even cried,” Thomas says truthfully. “I’d definitely do a lot worse than him.”

Finally, a small smirk starts to spread across Newt’s face. “Oh, I _know_ you’d piss your pants within the first few minutes.”

“Probably.”

“How did Alby and Ben react when he arrived?”

“They took it well,” Thomas says, thinking back on how Minho had stared at Ben with a perplexed look of faint yet distinct comprehension, like he couldn’t quite put his finger on why he looked familiar. “It was kind of nice to see how he and Ben became friends so quickly. They obviously didn't recognize each other, but it was like their _bodies_ did, if that makes sense?” Maybe intuition isn’t something that the Swipe is capable of eliminating... _oh_. Maybe there’s a perfectly logical reason for that, in Minho and Ben’s case. “Were they, um... _close_?”

Newt gives him a bittersweet smile that doesn’t really reach his eyes. “I’m not sure, but I’ve always suspected that there was something between them, yeah.”

“Wow, that’s...” the confession hits Thomas like a ton of bricks. The apparent romantic nature of Ben and Minho’s past relationship makes the whole thing so _real_ , so somber. They might’ve loved one another, and now WCKD has turned them into complete strangers who will have to fight side by side to survive while having no way of knowing that deep down in their subconscious, they still harbor unconditional feelings for each other. A strong bond of love that has been weakened—if not entirely shattered—against their will. Thomas has never hated WCKD more than at this moment. He doesn’t bother with all that rage, though. He’s so _tired_ of being angry all the time—he wants to just exist for once. And in Newt’s calming presence, it is surprisingly easy.

“Sad?” Newt offers, voice indifferent. “Nothing short of completely and utterly _tragic_?”

“Yeah,” Thomas mutters, “that.”

“I can’t even begin to fathom it,” Newt says, turning to stare up at the ceiling as if he’s looking for answers from above. He rests his joined hands on his chest, absentmindedly twirling his thumbs. “Can you imagine forgetting the person you love? Finding your way back to them without realizing that you have a shared past?”

“No. I can’t think of anything more heartbreaking,” Thomas admits through a broken whisper, and Newt’s look of sheer melancholy undoubtedly means that he agrees. Wanting to lighten up the mood, Thomas tries for a joke. “We should write a book about it or something.”

Luckily, it works. The late hour has induced tired delirium in them both. “A dystopian romance novel?” Newt says, laughing in disbelief at the ridiculous suggestion. “Mm, I reckon that’d be a hit. Disaster and dread, two awfully relatable topics these days.”

“Yeah. We’d make it a happy ending, though,” Thomas says, only because it’s a secret craving of his—to write a happy ending for his own life story. But that’s just not the way things work, and he has accepted that. The state of their world does not allow happy endings—it is a fact set in stone. Thomas has always known, as an immune, that he was destined for self-sacrifice. Whether that meant sacrificing just his time or his whole identity, he didn’t know up until recently. Once again, he is selfishly grateful for this job. But this time he looks at Newt, who doesn’t have the same kind of privilege, and the relief vanishes right away.

“Tommy?” Newt says, turning his head to look at him. His smile and bubbly tone are both gone—a signal that the atmosphere is about to change. 

“Yeah?”

“While we’re on the topic of dread...” he starts with a trembling voice, allowing Thomas to see a rare glimpse of vulnerability. “Tell me, when is it my turn?”

Thomas doesn’t need Newt to elaborate to know that he’s talking about the Trials. “I don’t know, which means they probably haven’t any decisions about it yet. Look, I know it’s easy for _me_ to say, but try not to think about it too much, okay? Just... let yourself exist here and now.” 

Newt nods. Thomas hopes that his own presence is easy for him to exist in, too. 

Apparently, it is. 

They’re both on the very edge of sleep when Thomas feels an arm curl around his waist. It leaves a beautiful warmth on the skin underneath the thin material of his t-shirt, then it spreads like an infection through his whole body. 

Goosebumps proceed to erupt everywhere. It feels like if he were to look, Thomas would see a trail of golden, gleaming light on his side and stomach that Newt’s touch left in its wake. 

Thomas stays put, basking in the wonderful feeling of being touched, being _held_ , by another person. As touch-starved as he is, he can’t help but lean into the embrace. He gives in to the temptation of Newt’s body heat, sagging against him, solely because he’s lonely and unfamiliar with this kind of thing, though— _not_ because it’s Newt. He’d do this even if it were someone else. 

Wouldn't he?

Newt breathes out a soft sigh right next to his ear, prompting Thomas’ rapidly beating heart to do several somersaults in his chest. Having a heart attack feels a lot like this, surely. 

Thomas goes with his gut, throwing caution to the wind by blindly reaching for Newt’s hand to intertwine their fingers, not knowing if he is awake to feel it.

It turns out that he is. Newt squeezes their joined hands and caresses a patch of skin with his thumb, making Thomas worry that he’ll feel his violent heartbeat rock through both of their bodies considering they’re pressed so close against each other. 

If Newt does notice, he doesn’t say anything about it. They both stay silent in the darkness, pretending that nothing out of the ordinary is happening. 

As Thomas eventually succumbs to a heavy slumber, his last consistent thought is, _I wish he’ll still be here when I wake up_.

But when the morning inevitably comes, Thomas realizes that he needs to be more careful about what he wishes for.

△

**WCKD Memorandum, Date 232.01.26, Time 9:27 PM**

**TO:** Leadership Council

 **FROM:** Director Ava Paige

 **SUBJECT:** A close call

Dear Council,

I have some very interesting developments to share with you.

It has recently come to my attention that Subject A5 has formed a close relationship with one of our most gifted Programmers: Thomas Murphy. 

Subject A5 was found to be absent this morning during the wakeup, and a lengthy investigation into the conundrum led us to discover that he had been using our ventilation system as a way of transportation between his cell and Thomas’s dorm room. When questioned about this, both parties regretfully admitted to having orchestrated a multitude of secret meetings with each other during several week’s time. But not to worry, my esteemed Council, as this has no apparent consequences on WCKD as a whole. If anything, the situation has given us two valuable advantages—we now know that motion detectors need to be installed in the vents to prevent further engagement between Subjects and Programmers. This process will begin immediately. 

Additionally, I think the unforeseen infatuation with Subject A5 seems to have reawakened Thomas’s desire and interest in doing whatever it takes to find a cure. He continues to impress and take more initiative during work hours. Fortunately, he remains uninformed about the existence of the Right Arm.

So here’s to love. Evidently, it can arise anywhere. And it is, without a doubt, a remarkably effective tool. 

As always, WCKD is good. 

All my best,

Director Ava Paige


	3. now i'm covered in you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh....... enjoy?

_Someone is pressing gentle, quick kisses to the sensitive skin on his neck._

_“Tommy,” a voice murmurs. A wonderful, soothing voice he’d recognize anywhere. “It’s time to get up.”_

_“What?” Disoriented, Thomas rolls over in an attempt to shield his closed eyes from the unfamiliar, blinding light up above. He clings to the warm body next to him. “Why? Did they find us again?”_

_“Who?” Newt asks, running his fingers through his hair now. It’s pure bliss, and he never wants it to end._

_“WCKD,” Thomas groans, convinced that Director Paige and her army will be storming in on them any second now._

_“No, definitely not,” Newt says, huffing out a soft chuckle right next to Thomas' ear. He wants to ask what he finds so funny—their situation certainly isn’t. They can’t be doing this. It’s forbidden._

_“Are you sure?” Thomas asks. "Is the door locked?”_

_“Yes, I s’pose you could say we put a lock on the door a long time ago,” Newt says through another laugh, voice dripping with fondness. “WCKD won’t find us ever again, love. We’re safe.”_

_And then Thomas understands, finally, that this is nothing but a figment of his deepest, most selfish wishes, violently breaking through the wall of denial that he has been building up for a long time now. An unfairly cruel fantasy. He doesn’t dare open his eyes, because then this moment will become something that he’ll miss constantly._

_And—no. No, Thomas can’t have that. He will not allow himself to dream about this. He will not allow himself to_ want _this. It’s too much. It’s too far beyond the things he will ever have. “Go away,” he groans._

_“Alright, then,” Newt says before placing a final kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll let you stay here for a bit. Come find me later, yeah? You know where I’ll be.”_

_Then, finally, he leaves. And Thomas is pulled back down again immediately, with heavy hands clawing at him, dragging him through different planes of consciousness until he eventually tumbles headfirst back into reality._

△

Thomas wakes up to find that ivy vines have grown in spirals around his heart. Much like the vines in the Maze, his feelings for Newt have manifested and grown around his guarded walls of stone. Vines of longing, of despair, and of something bigger—something unbelievably scary. 

Something Thomas has never felt for another person before. _Love_.

Spending time apart from Newt is undoubtedly the cause of the constant ache in his heart. It’s been almost two months now. Two months since they woke up in a pile of tangled limbs to the blaring sound of the alarm. Two months since they got caught. 

How could Thomas have been so stupid? He was conscious enough to know that they were falling asleep for a while there, so shouldn’t have let it happen. 

Being separated from Newt has led him to work harder, which is somewhat of a good thing, he supposes. If Thomas gives it his all, then maybe they can find a cure before Newt has to be sent up into the Trials. This is his only source of motivation that gets him through all the long days of frustrating, hard work. Director Paige seems to appreciate his newfound ethic. She’d grilled him for a long time when she found out what happened. Thomas understands where she’s coming from; he knows that his life would be way less complicated if Newt hadn’t come into the picture all those weeks ago. So maybe Director Paige was right—maybe love is nothing but a dangerous, unnecessary concept. 

An image flashes through Thomas’ mind, then. It is the image of Newt, sleepy and warm and smiling in his arms the seconds before the alarm went off throughout the whole facility—echoing loudly like it was screaming at them for doing something worthy of punishment. 

They _weren’t_ , though. Thomas recalls the moment, how good it had felt to be held, to be cared for, to care for another person. How could something that felt so beautiful be considered to be something wrong? Something unnecessary? Something that WCKD thinks should be prevented?

Thomas wants to be mad at Newt for turning him into someone with these types of feelings, or, as Director calls them: _sentimental faults_. Though, Thomas knows that all of this is his fault, _he_ was the one who broke the rules in the first place. And how was he supposed to know that he’d come to live for the stolen moments shared with Newt, and forget about everything else? 

If he doesn’t steal one more moment, he won’t be able to move on with his life.

“Can I come in?” Thomas asks Teresa when she answers her door. 

His friend looks a little bewildered, but she nods. “Of course, Tom. What’s up?”

Thomas looks down the corridor for potential unwanted witnesses before stepping inside. Even since the incident, the staff has been following him around almost everywhere, as if they’ve been ordered to keep tabs on him. It wouldn't come as a surprise.

“I need you to help me with something,” Thomas admits, closing the door shut behind him, finally entrapping them in a safe space. “I have to speak to Ne—uh, Subject A5.”

Teresa frowns, blissfully oblivious to everything that’s happened recently. “Why? There is a very understandable reason to keep Subjects and Programmers—”

“Separate, I know,” Thomas says, almost laughing at how important that rule has turned out to be. “But, uh, it’s kind of too late now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m—I’m already attached,” Thomas admits, looking Teresa dead in the eye despite all the shame he feels for what he’s done. For what he’s discovered. “I think I love him, Teresa.”

Teresa jolts as if she’s been slapped. “ _What_? One of the Subjects?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice breaking. “And he could be going up there any day now. I _need_ to see him and tell him, before... Please, will you help me?”

To Thomas’ surprise, his friend lurches forward and pulls him into a tight hug. His hands come up to rest on the small of her back, a silent way of thanking her for understanding what he needs. 

Teresa pulls back to look him in the eye. “Oh, Tom...” she murmurs, studying him with pitiful eyes. 

Thomas doesn’t notice the tears running down his face until she wipes them away. 

After every staff member has retreated to their rooms, Teresa leads him through familiar, dark corridors until they reach a heavy steel door that Thomas has never allowed to pass through. Teresa puts her keycard to the pad right next to it, and with a silent click, the door opens to reveal—

A small room with grey walls and fluorescent light: nothing out of the ordinary. Beyond it, though, is a long corridor with multiple cell doors. Cell doors which, thanks to the countless hours Thomas has spent looking through live camera footage, he instantly recognizes as the entrances to Group A’s rooms. 

The problem, however, is that a wall of thick glass separates the two different parts of the facility. 

“What is this place?” Thomas asks Teresa, walking up to the wall and tentatively taps on it. It doesn’t budge, obviously.

“It’s where staff can talk to the Subjects without opening any safety doors and risking another breach,” Teresa explains, lingering by the entrance. “I sent him a coded message, so he should be here soon.”

“You—?” Thomas stammers, taken aback by her loyalty and commitment to risk _everything_ by setting up a meeting from which she has nothing to gain. “Teresa... thank you so much. Seriously, I—”

“It’s no problem, Tom,” Teresa says, giving him a sad smile. “Make the most of it. Just don’t get in trouble.” 

“I won’t,” he promises, and then she’s gone.

When a cell door down the corridor opens and a figure steps out, Thomas’ heartbeat picks up, thrumming through his whole body in anxious waves. What if Newt doesn’t want to see him? It would be understandable, because he definitely suffered some consequences after their secret escapades, too. And Thomas was the one who initiated them. 

But when Newt spots him, he walks down the corridor with determined, quick strides until they’re face to face. 

“Tommy,” he breathes, and something in Thomas breaks when he notices just how muffled Newt’s voice sounds through the glass. It’s nothing like it did when they were lying next to each other on his bed. 

“Hey,” Thomas murmurs, eagerly pressing his hand up against the glass as if he could break through it with sheer willpower alone. “I missed you.” 

Newt is in his usual attire, with the words _property of WCKD_ written across his t-shirt as a cruel reminder that freedom has long ago become a foreign concept to him. 

Newt smiles sadly and puts his own hand up against Thomas’, aligning their fingers perfectly. Thomas wants to let go and sob out loud at the heartbreaking symbolism behind the action, but he collects himself. “Missed you, too. I should’ve known you’d be the kind of bloke who gets you into his bed and then never calls.” 

Despite everything, that gets a loud laugh out of Thomas. Newt, pretty as always, grins at the feat. “I’m sorry,” Thomas says, “for being so _stupid._ I should’ve woken you up. Did they do anything to you? You know, as punishment?”

“Nah, it hasn’t been too bad, really,” Newt replies, but something tells Thomas that he’s minimizing the situation. “They must’ve put most of the blame on you, I s’pose. And _don’t_ apologize, we were both stupid.”

Thomas hums, studying the way Newt’s eyes look almost completely black in the low light. His boyish features are bruised and worn down by the burden of having to grow up too fast, yet still beautiful. God, Thomas wishes that their circumstances were different. In another life, maybe they met at school. A normal school in a normal world. He can see it now—how his clumsy self could’ve easily ran into Newt in the hallway, sending books and papers flying everywhere. And then they’d lock eyes, and something in the back of Thomas’ mind would let his heart know that _it’s him_ —it’s going to be him. Just like in all the old movies. 

But this is a different type of movie. A movie where happy endings aren’t allowed.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to come see you anymore,” Thomas admits, voice trembling. “It’s too risky.”

Newt doesn’t even flinch. He’d probably been expecting it. “My time’s up, is that it?”

“I don’t know,” Thomas whispers, terrified of exposing the uncertain truth. “But it could be any day now.”

“Maybe it’s for the best. If we’re the only hope of a cure, it’s selfish for us to worry about ourselves,” Newt says, but Thomas knows him well enough by now that he can tell that Newt is trying to hide his fear. “But ask yourself: what happens next? WCKD finds their cure, then what?”

Thomas frowns. “What do you mean?”

“They’ll control it, won’t they? They’ll control everything. Who lives, who dies... A world run by WCKD, is that really a world worth saving?”

The words sink in just as the door behind Thomas rattles, sending a violent echo through the quiet, intimate space they’ve made for themselves. Frantic, loud voices are suddenly heard from behind it, and then the door shakes again. Like someone is trying to break it down.

“We don’t have much time,” Thomas says, quickly bracing himself for what he’s about to confess. “Newt, I just want you to know that I—”

But Newt cuts him off before Thomas can profess his deepest truth. He has a pained look on his face as if he knows what was about to be said. “Before he died,” Newt starts, anxiously looking back and forth between Thomas and the door, “my father made contact with a group called the Right Arm. They’d found a safe haven for immunes. We were on our way there when WCKD took us.”

Thomas’ train of thought derails, and everything in the universe seems to come to an abrupt halt. “Why are you telling me this now?”

Another loud bang vibrates through the room, making the glass shake.

“Because soon, I won’t be able to remember,” Newt blurts out, fixing his pointed gaze on Thomas for what is probably going to be the last time. “And there’s no one else I can trust. You’re not like the others, Tommy. Don’t let them convince you that you are.”

That is the very last thing he can get out before the door is kicked in by an army of WCKD soldiers.

△

“I’m very disappointed in you, Thomas,” Director Paige says to him early the next day. “You know that I’m not particularly fond of being woken up in the dead of night to be told that one of my dear Programmers is in the process of violating our laws. _Again_.”

They’re in her office, and it’s so early in the morning that she hasn’t had the chance to put on makeup yet. She looks way less intimidating with tired eyes and pale, natural lips.

Thomas sighs, wanting her to just skip the bullshit. He’s so fucking tired. Tired of WCKD, tired of the lack of freedom, tired of missing Newt. “How’d you even find me?”

Ava’s stone face remains unaffected. “We put a tracker on you after the last stunt you pulled. Call us paranoid, but as it turns out, it was one hundred percent necessary.” 

A patch of skin on the back of Thomas’ neck starts to itch. “What? How—?”

“It is not of import,” Director Paige says, waving a dismissive hand in the air as if his words are nothing but aggravating bugs flying around her. “Thomas, this has _got_ to stop. When you arrived, you were one of my most promising Programmers. But since the breakout... There's a reason we keep Subjects separate from Programmers. To know them makes it harder to do what we do.”

Thomas resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I know.” 

“Do you?” His boss asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow. She taps on the touch screen on her desk, and a hologram appears before them. It shows the image of him and Newt from last night, both standing pressed up against the glass on either side, clearly dying to break through it. 

“Director Paige, I—”

“We’ve been over this, you _cannot_ see him. Did the Subject tell you anything this time? Anything about an organization called the Right Arm?” 

Thomas summons all his willpower, all his self-control, and says, “No, of course not,” in the most convincing tone that he can possibly muster.

Surprisingly, it seems to work. “Alright, Thomas. It doesn’t matter anyway. Just remember: good science is dispassionate, so remove yourself.”

 _Remove yourself_. What a heartless, brutal thing to say. If Thomas had been able to do so, he definitely would’ve done it by now. Honestly, he would’ve jumped at the chance to feel indifference towards Newt. But that’s not how life works, is it? One can’t just _delete_ their yearning for someone, no matter how bad WCKD wants it to happen. Memories can be removed, yes, but Minho and Ben have proven that the Swipe has one weakness: instinct. 

“I don’t think I can,” Thomas admits, giving in to exhaustion. There is no reason to pretend that his feelings for Newt aren’t all-consuming at this point—his boss surely knows already. She can probably see it written across his face in bold letters that say, _tragically infatuated!_

“Well, you will learn to,” Director Paige replies, completely unsympathetic, before she drops a devastating bomb on him. “Because Subject A5 will be sent into the Maze Trials first thing in the morning.”

Thomas’ world comes to a halt once more. The air around him becomes thick, making it nearly impossible to consume any oxygen. “What?” He looks at Ava, frantically searching for any signs of insincerity in her expression, only to find none. They really are sending Newt up there tomorrow, and all of it is Thomas’ fault. “ _No!_ ”

“Yes,” Ava retorts, crossing her arms as if to challenge him.

The steady fire inside of Thomas flares up and evolves into a stream of boiling lava, growing so hot that he can’t even see straight. The overwhelming rage crests in him; rage toward himself for obliterating the small amount of freedom that Newt had left, but mostly rage toward WCKD, who is the culprit for this incomprehensible situation. Thomas has always known that this would eventually happen, but up until now, he thought Newt had more time. He doesn’t anymore, and it’s because Thomas had to go and fall for him.

“He won’t remember you,” Ava says with an evil smirk as if to mock him by stating the obvious. “And I believe that this will make you capable of focusing on essential things. Like finding a cure, for example. That’s the only way you’ll get him out of there, so you should get to work.” 

Thomas realizes, then, that his boss has successfully backed him into an inescapable corner. He could go on a rampage and refuse to obey, but then he would be thrown out and lose the ability to find a cure and save his friend. 

Director Paige is knowingly using Newt as _bait_. 

And so, Thomas has no choice but to give in and continue his work, as if nothing has happened. As if his heart hasn’t shattered and crumbled to a pile of dust.

What Director Paige doesn’t know, though, is that he possesses the power to alert the Right Arm. But if they invade WCKD’s compounds, then the countless years of studying the Killzone, constituting the Trials, and creating blueprints would’ve been for _nothing_. 

The world would be transported back to square one. It would become anarchy—an immensely treacherous place for _everyone_ , immune or not.

It would completely destroy itself.

△

**WCKD Memorandum, Date 232.03.5, Time 5:13 PM**

**TO:** Leadership Council

 **FROM:** Director Ava Paige

 **RE:** A close call

Hello all,

I’m afraid the previously mentioned situation has escalated beyond my control. Despite our great efforts to keep them apart, one of our security cameras spotted Thomas interacting with Subject A5 by the separation glass last night.

When I confronted Thomas with the footage, it finally became painfully clear to me that our Programmer’s main focus had shifted. Once, it lied fully and undoubtedly on finding a cure and putting a stop to this devastating pandemic that we have found ourselves in the midst of. Now, however, it lies not on saving the world, but rather solely on saving Subject A5. And as we all know, good science is dispassionate. Partial attachment is nothing but a dangerous element in Thomas’s life. In all of our lives, frankly. However, an idea struck me when I realized just how strong their bond had become. I believe that we can take advantage of Thomas’s feelings and make him channel them into doing something beneficial. 

Therefore, I have made the last-minute decision to reschedule the insertion of Subject A9 tomorrow by replacing him with Subject A5 instead.

I certainly hope that this sudden development does not cause you too much confusion.

All my best,

Director Ava Paige


	4. say you'll remember me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chap!!!! i can't tell if this is rushed or not but i hope yall like it :)

Thomas wakes to an unexpected sound: a discreet knock on his door.

After he opens it, he barely has time to react before he’s got his arms full of Newt in all his glory—with his soft scent, warmth, and bubbly laughter. For a moment Thomas thinks he might be dreaming, but no, Newt is solid and real in his arms, clinging to him like it’s his last night on Earth. 

And, well. That might actually be sort of true.

Teresa stands in the doorway, studying them with fondness written all over her features. Behind all that, though, is something else entirely. Pain, sorrow, guilt. Emotions that Thomas knows all too well. 

“Newt?” Thomas mumbles into the crook of the boy’s neck when he tightens his hold. “Teresa? What—?”

“Surprise,” she says with a weak smile. “You have one last night together. Use it to say goodbye.”

Thomas looks around the hallway, worried that staff is going to come running toward them any second. “But the cameras—”

“I took care of it,” Teresa assures him. “I may have, um, _tampered_ with them a little. Empty footage is gonna go on a loop all night. You’ve got until 5 AM.”

That’s when Newt finally pulls back to look at him. His eyes are dark and full of mischief. Before Thomas can get lost in them, another question pops up in his mind. “Wait... Teresa, why are you helping us? Helping us set up a meeting by the glass wall was one thing, but this is...”

 _More than anything I ever thought you’d do for me_.

“Love is all we’ve got left, Tom. It shouldn’t be confined,” Teresa replies. The door slams shut.

“Tommy,” Newt says when they’re alone, “did you hear me, back there? Did you get the name?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Thomas admits. “The Right Arm.”

“Exactly,” Newt replies, and then reaches into his pocket. He holds up a wrinkled piece of paper with a bunch of numbers on them. It takes a while for Thomas to realize that they are _coordinates_. “Take this, and do the right thing. Promise me, yeah?”

Thomas accepts the note. “I promise,” he says, determined not to let his voice break. The thing is, he doesn’t know what the right thing is yet. Newt has his own opinion, but... Thomas can’t let some organization take down WCKD. It wouldn’t be right. It would turn the world into an even worse mess, making it harder to fix the situation. Newt might not realize it, but it wouldn’t help anyone in the long-run.

Unaware of his inner struggle, Newt smiles. “Good. Christ, I missed you so much. You’ve actually made this awful place tolerable.”

“Well, uh. It’s your last night here,” Thomas says awkwardly, looking around the room at everything but him, desperate to change the subject. “How do you wanna spend it?”

Newt’s grin turns into something else—something softer, something sweeter. Butterflies erupt in Thomas’ stomach at the sight. “I just want to make the best of what’s left, I s’pose.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course,” Thomas says, breaking their intense staring contest. He then freezes when Newt reaches out to put two fingers through his belt loops, pulling Thomas forward. His breath hitches at the sensation of their bodies pressed together, and his hands instinctively find Newt’s forearms to steady himself. “Uh, what—what do you wanna do?”

“Shh, just...” Newt leans in even closer to that their noses almost brush. White, hot heat pools in Thomas’ abdomen, blossoming until it consumes him completely. “Just be with me, yeah?”

“Okay, but—?” Thomas cuts himself off when he looks down to see one of Newt’s hands leaving its spot to trail around his waist, turning Thomas into a shuddering mess and undoubtedly burning a hole through his shirt. 

Newt reaches out to tilt Thomas’ chin upward with two fingers, forcing him to resume the staring contest. “Tommy,” he murmurs in a deep voice, so quietly that it almost goes unheard. His gaze is magnetic—Thomas is physically unable to look away. “If I’m wrong about this, tell me now.”

Thomas’ beating heart breaks in two when he finally understands that he has wanted this just as much as he has, all along. They could’ve been doing this much sooner. But they can’t go back in time. Newt’s future looms ahead of them like one of the intimidating walls in the Maze—they’re waiting for him. He’ll see them in the morning. 

Therefore, they shouldn’t do this. They really, _really_ shouldn’t acknowledge or act on this electric thing between them, because it will only end in heartbreak. 

They both know this. Newt looks torn as his gaze flickers up to Thomas’ eyes and then down to his mouth again.

“You aren’t,” Thomas finally gathers the courage to admit—the confession comes out as a breathless whisper. “But we can’t...” he trails off when he discovers just how unconvincing his own words sound as his hoarse voice trembles with want.

“Try being selfish for once in your life,” Newt whispers, now breathing shakily, no doubt excited about what they both want to happen. 

Thomas gives in. He’s never been one to deny Newt anything, after all. 

He closes the short distance between them and presses an open-mouthed kiss to Newt's lips. It becomes charged right from the start when he reciprocates with the same daring passion. 

Newt cups his cheeks with both hands, holding Thomas in place and kissing him deeply, slowly, like he’s trying to take him apart.

It works. Within seconds, Thomas is a flushed mess, sighing and whimpering against the other boy's pliant mouth. Now that they’ve started, they can’t seem to stop—so Thomas lets his hands wander from Newt's forearms up to his shoulders, pressing them even closer. 

Thomas feels himself being pushed back until his knees hit the bed and his legs buckle, sending him sprawling onto the bed. Newt follows shortly, straddling his lap, resuming the kiss almost instantly. The sudden friction makes them both gasp. 

“Say you’ll remember me,” Thomas gasps through ragged, helpless breaths. “ _Please_.”

“I will, Tommy,” Newt whispers against his lips. “I will.”

They both know it’s a lie. 

△

Many months go by, and Thomas’ state of mind can only really be described as being stuck in limbo. The only thing that keeps him from running off and completely giving up is the fact that Newt needs him. Minho, Ben, and Alby all need him. 

He must give Director Paige some credit for being the mastermind of such a cruel plan—taking advantage of his own feelings and turning his job into a rescue mission by backing him into a corner. Admittedly, she’s a genius. But he hates her all the same. 

When you see the person who means the world to you go through hell on a daily basis, it is terribly easy to remind yourself that he is counting on you. 

(Does it? Does the risk of race extinction really justify the elimination of a few? The answer is indefinite, and Thomas is sick of trying to convince himself that he is sure of it.)

The answer strikes him in the chest one day in the form of a spear, a gunshot, a knife. That’s what it feels like, anyway, when Thomas watches Newt allow himself to fall from one of the walls in the Maze. 

And to his absolute surprise, Thomas’ heart is still beating afterward. Only by holding onto the knowledge that he has the power to prevent anything like this ever happening again—prevent WCKD from taking any more innocent lives. He has finally realized that it’s the right thing to do. 

And when Minho finds Newt, in pain but _alive_ , Thomas holds onto the possibility of them meeting again. Because he made a pivotal decision the second Newt jumped. He just wishes that the epiphany would have come to him sooner.

(Does the risk of race extinction really justify the elimination of a few? The answer is no, and Thomas’ soul burns with rage.)

The last conversation of his old life is with Teresa.

“Hey,” Thomas says through a sigh of relief when he sees her standing in the lab. Much like the red and blue lights from the equipment, Teresa lights up when she sees him.

It doesn’t last long, of course. “Did anyone see you come here?”

She frowns, looks around with newfound fear in her eyes. “No, what are you talking about?”

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Thomas admits, stepping into her personal space. He wishes that he had more time to thank her for everything she’s done for him in the past year—keeping him company, being his friend, helping him in countless ways. But their time together is rapidly running out; Thomas can sense it in the eerie way he feels like he’s being watched. 

“Thomas, what’s wrong?”

“I just... I had to see you and just try to explain things before—” the sound of footsteps echo through the lab, and Thomas barely has time to shield them from an armed soldier before he passes them by.

“ _Thomas_!” Teresa gasps when he presses her up against the wall, slowing the sand in their hourglass down by a few seconds. 

“Just listen to me, okay? Whatever they tell you about me, whatever they say, I just need you to know: I had to do it.” 

Thomas sees it, the moment her heart breaks into two. He remembers, with painful clarity, how he’d promised Teresa to not go somewhere she couldn’t follow. The look of betrayal is written all over her features. “What did you do?”

“I couldn’t keep watching them die,” Thomas whispers, praying that she will at least _try_ to understand. 

Teresa’s eyes widen, and Thomas expects it when someone grabs him from behind and locks his arms behind his back. “I’m sorry,” is the last thing he says to his friend. 

And then the soldiers drag him away. Toward the fire he started, toward a fire that’s going to burn him alive. 

Toward oblivion. 

△

  
  


**WCKD Memorandum, Date 232.09.19, Time 1:26 PM**

**TO:** Leadership Council

 **FROM:** Director Ava Paige

 **SUBJECT:** Regarding the Maze Trials (Group A)

Dear colleagues,

I regret to inform you that I have some unfortunate news. 

One of our former Programmers, now known as Subject A2, has done the unthinkable. We should have realized long ago that his loyalty had taken an irrevocable turn. A turn which, unfortunately, may cost us greatly. 

Yesterday, Subject A5 attempted to take his own life in the Maze. And so, Subject A2 came to an absurd conclusion: the wellbeing of his friend matters more than producing a cure. Therefore—all thanks to Subject A2’s strong attachment to Subject A5—our top-secret locations have been exposed to the terrorist organization known as the Right Arm in a nefarious effort to rescue his companion. 

If you want someone to blame for this, please feel free to use me as your target board. I deserve all of your arrows—I should have subdued both Subjects a long time ago. 

However, Thomas’s traitorous actions did come with a surprising victory. We never knew who our final candidates would be, but we do now. Subject A2 has been sedated and is currently being prepared for the Trials as I write this to you. Definitive proof of Teresa Agnes’s involvement in this disloyal event has been found as well. And so, she has been given the role of Subject A1, and will be sent in next as the concluding participant, or, “the last one ever”. This is a sudden and unexpected modification, though I have no doubt that these additions to the Trials will bring interesting progress and favorable outcomes for the development of the cure.

Isn’t it bittersweet to think that love for one single individual can outweigh the concern for millions of others? If this were under different circumstances, I would have been delighted to know this. In these times, though, the best I can do for Subject A2 is to remove all of his sentimental faults. Thankfully, the Swipe will grant him exactly that—a blank canvas to start over on. 

As we prepare to defend ourselves from invasion, please remember one thing—we are doing this to save countless lives. The entirety of the human race, in fact. And we must succeed, no matter the setbacks we might come across in the process. I firmly believe that we were born into this damaged world for this exact reason, and we all have our destined roles to play. It is time, once again, to be selfless. 

As I have surely mentioned before, the risk of race extinction justifies the elimination of a few. 

WCKD IS GOOD. 

Wishing you all the best of luck,

Director Ava Paige 

△

He begins his new life standing up, surrounded by cold darkness and stale, dusty air...

He feels an inexplicable pull toward one of the strangers in the Glade right away, making him turn around repeatedly to sneak glances at the captivating boy before Alby becomes somewhat annoyed and drags him away. (He doesn’t even know his own name yet, so how can anyone else possibly be familiar to him?)

And, well... everybody knows what happens next. It is, after all, set in stone. 

The Maze Trials. The seemingly incurable virus. That fateful night in the Last City. The worst timing possible. The knife.

It’s all set in stone. 

Or is it? 

The thing is—it doesn’t have to be. Not all of it, at least. 

You see, despite having been born for one purpose and one purpose only—serving the world by being drained of all his miraculous blood; a rare gift of biology—Thomas has always had an uncontrollable impulse to rewrite stories. To create his own.

And when his eyes flutter open to a pale blue sky with a glistening ocean below, divided by a tall chain of mountains, it dawns on him that he has managed to do exactly that. 

He jolts awake and sits up in his hammock, looking around frantically. “Newt?” 

Not a single soul is left in the sleeping area to point him the right way. But then a faint echo of a previous conversation flashes through his groggy mind. _Come find me later, yeah? You know where I’ll be_. 

Thomas abruptly turns around and falls out of the hammock, crashing to the wooden floor with a thud. Too eager to be embarrassed, he takes off running toward the ocean with quick, barefoot strides in the damp sand, feeling like he’s flying. 

A crowd has gathered by the bonfire, and Thomas barely has time to notice all his friends enjoying their breakfast in the morning sunlight before he rushes past them. 

A lone figure is standing a couple of feet out in the knee-deep water at the far east end of the wide stretch of beach. The consuming sound of the surf roars in his ears as he runs faster, causing spurts of sand to go flying behind him. 

“ _Newt_!” he shouts, finally getting the boy’s attention. Splashes of saltwater drench the bottom of Thomas’ trousers as he crosses the shoreline, but he couldn't care less about that. 

“Morning, Tommy,'' Newt says, reaching out to catch him and pull him into a steady embrace. His arms slip around Thomas’ waist. “Slept well, did you? Was startin’ to think you’d slipped into a coma or something.”

“Newt...” Thomas whispers, pausing for a moment to drink him in—the way the low morning sun behind him turns Newt’s hair into a halo around his head, the constellation of freckles dotted all over his nose, the way he looks at him with nothing but love and trust in his dark eyes, much like he did when they were kids. Goosebumps break out all over his skin, and it has nothing to do with the cold water. 

“ _What_?” Newt laughs when the silence apparently stretches on for too long. “Why are you looking at me like that? What’s all the fuss about?”

Thomas cups his cheek, then, and can’t help but lean in to kiss him. It’s hot, heavy, and lingering—maybe a little too emotionally charged to handle in this early stage of the day. Newt doesn’t seem to mind, though. He responds enthusiastically like always, devotedly letting Thomas have whatever he wants. 

The wind picks up, whisking away every single bit of confusion and doubt as they kiss. 

“I love you,” Thomas pulls away to whisper, letting their lips brush softly as he speaks, “so much. Did you know that?”

“I did, actually. You tell me quite often,” Newt says as his fond gaze flickers up from Thomas’ mouth to meet his eyes. “I love you too, but what in the bloody hell is going on with you today?”

“You—” Thomas says and kisses him again; the one person who is the catalyst to his traitorous, partial, and passionate actions, “—won’t _believe_ what I just remembered.”

△

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hozier voice* that’s it. 
> 
> so how are we feeling? tell me about your reactions!! are you screaming into your pillow? if so, i succeeded.
> 
> BE HONEST THO, are y’all surprised by that twist, or am i a predictable cliche? ugh, i think i know the answer already. Oh Well. in my defense, i wasn’t actually planning on writing a happy ending, i just thought i’d end it with the first quote in the first book and make it Really Sad, but then i listened to "too much is never enough" by florence+the machine and the final scene just magically Appeared behind my closed eyelids SO VIVIDLY!! LIKE A FUCKIN’ MOVIE, Y’ALL!! i got chills and cried lol. 
> 
> thanks for reading! —ella <3

**Author's Note:**

> kudos, feedback, and comments are always appreciated <3


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